


Clean New Music

by voleuse



Category: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-11
Updated: 2005-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>They could not keep me from wells.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean New Music

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. Title and summary adapted from Seamus Heaney's _Personal Helicon_.

_"My father was a priest.  
My mother was an oracle."_

 

Galen's earliest memories are of temples.

Each one different, but essentially alike at the core.

Every morning, prayer, and every evening, sacrifice.

Every floor, littered with leaves, or pine needles, or crushed petals. Fragrant and slipshod.

Every ceiling, broken in the center, light shining down into the sanctuary's heart.

His mother whispers in his ear. His father tells him to bow his head.

In those years, before the world sets in, he sees it all as they do.

And he doesn't understand.

*

 

The outside world comes as a surprise to Galen.

He discovers that not everybody's father sings the cycles of the harvest.

Not everybody's mother pores over the scriptures throughout the day.

Not everybody's home smells of paper and incense and chamalla tea.

It's shocking, but it's also somewhat a relief.

He hadn't realized, before, that there were choices to be made.

*

 

He does not reject his parents' beliefs. Indeed, he continues to claim them as his own.

There are other ways to worship the gods, he knows, ways other than piety and prophecy.

He revels in small, mechanical, miraculous things, and comes home with oil under his nails, grime on his skin.

His father regards his hands with a mildly puzzled but approving air. His mother places her hands on his shoulders.

"The gods bless us all in different ways," she tells him. "Find the path to your true service."

Something loosens inside Galen's chest, and he pulls his parents into an embrace.

His father presses a kiss onto his forehead, and together, the three of them pray.

*

 

Time wanes, the worlds turn, and Galen follows the path revealed to him. Whether through the gods' wills, or simple happenstance, the ships of the Colonial fleet become his second home.

Before his third posting, he returns to his home, to finally gather the last of his possessions.

He feels awkward, sitting at the table with his parents. There's no less love between them, but the distance is evident.

He places his hand over his mother's, smiles at his father's stories, because he's not sure what he's supposed to say anymore.

He folds a few books and photographs into his bag, leaves the rest to be given away as they see fit.

They enfold him in their arms, and he wishes he could remember how to talk to them.

But instead, he tells them he loves them, and farewell.

*

 

The last time he speaks to them is five weeks before the attacks.

It's his mother's birthday, and his phone call catches them as they're leaving for a child's dedication.

"You never stop working," he jokes with affection.

His mother laughs. "It never feels like work."

"I love you, Mom," he tells her.

She says, "We love you, too."

After they hang up, he clutches the handset for a moment, smiling.

Then he goes back to work.


End file.
